Hate
by CupcakesOnMyConverse
Summary: "But most of all, you hate yourself, for feeling this hate at all. You hate yourself for hating glee club You hate yourself for hating the best thing that's ever happened to you."


You hear what they're saying, but the words don't sting. You don't let them. You aren't deaf. You aren't numb, or immune to the pain. It's almost like you can feel the pressure, but not the burn. You know the words should hurt you, but they don't. Not anymore. There was a time when those words would have brought tears to your eyes, but that time is long gone.

You can't explain the half-numb feeling that is tugging, but not aching. You don't understand it. You don't know what's happening. They're talking. You don't care. They're laughing. You don't care. You want to care. You want to feel something. Anything.

Even the red slushie doesn't completely register. You expect cold. You expect wet. You expect sticky. But you can't feel it. Can't feel any of it. You can't feel the burn of the liquid in your eyes, or your hair sticking to your face. You can't bring yourself to care that your favorite shirt is probably ruined beyond repair. You can always buy a new shirt. You can't buy dignity.

You focus on the music- on your real friends, because they are the only ones that really understand. They are the only ones who have felt the humiliation that you've faced because of your love for music. They're the only ones who really know what it's like.

It takes a long time, but you start to feel the slushie. You decide that it's worse than anything else. You can handle words. You can handle being shoved into a locker. Because after those are done, they're over with. You can close your eyes and try to forget that they ever happened. However, a slushie stays with you. The burn from the cornsyrup in your eyes lasts twelve hours minimum, and damn, that stuff can stain. It doesn't matter how many tide sticks you use, or what kind of detergent you pour on. The stain is permanent. Just another reminder that because of this decision to be in Glee Club, you will always be an outcast. It's a decision that you can never go back on. Glee club is deemed "weird" or "gay" or "uncool", and now that you're a part of it, you suddenly retain all of those characteristics. You're stuck with a label you can't get rid of. Loser.

You want to proud of your spot in the club. You want to be able to freely talk about it; to not be ashamed. However, when you look in the bathroom mirror, trying to wash the slushie out of your hair, you see your reflection staring back at you, and you're unsure weather your eyes are red from the corn syrup, or from the crying. You decide it's a lot of both. You wonder if Glee is really worth all of this.

Sure, you love singing and dancing to great songs with the best friends you've ever had, but you can't decide which sounds better to you- no bullies, or no Glee. The answer should be obvious, but it's not.

Music is your solace. Your peace. In this crazy place called high school, it's the one constant that you can continually rely on to make you feel better. To keep you from losing your mind. And having the opportunity to perform that music makes you happier than you've felt in a really long time.

You aren't perfect. You're hurt, and have been hurt. Your life will never be perfect, but it's almost like Glee makes you forget that sometimes. Because no matter how many slushies have been thrown at you, or how many names people come up with, or how many bad grades you get, or how many times your parents feel the need to yell about whatever you've done this time, Glee is the getaway. You can lose yourself in the music. It's become a refuge. A save haven. Somewhere that you can be yourself without the fear of being judged, because honestly, everyone there is just as much as an outcast as you are.

So that's why it's so hard to think about quitting. At the same time, though, whenever you get slushied like you have now, quitting is just so..._tempting_. The slushie to the face isn't only about the sting in your eyes later. It's the humiliation of having to walk all the way to the bathroom, the nurse's office, your locker, or wherever you are inclined to go in order to clean yourself up. That humiliation is enough to make you consider giving up that feeling that Glee gives you.

You hate lying to your parents by saying that the clothes in the plastic bag are for gym class. In reality, they're an extra outfit just in case the jocks are feeling cruel that day. It's not fair that you have to do this. But Figgins, being probably one of the worst principals ever, would probably be the most ineffective resource of getting help. And really, he's the only one.

So everyday you live in fear of the cold, wet, torture that the slushie brings. You can't even drink them anymore. The very smell of the artificial flavoring makes you sick. When you tried, the frozen drink sliding down your throat felt like a betrayal. To you, your body, and to the glee club in general. You felt gross, ingesting the very thing that causes you so much stress. That only makes it worse when you actually do get slushied.

You can't help but blame Glee for bringing this upon you. In some part of you, you hate it for all the humiliation it's caused. You hate those feelings. You hate looking at it that way, but it's true. You hate the jocks and their stupid judgement. You hate Figgins for not doing anything about it. You hate Coach Sylvester for only making everything ten times worse. You hate Mr. Schuester for making you perform in front of the whole school, and not even trying to help the club with the bullying. You hate the rest of the glee club for acting like everything is fine when they have to be feeling everything you are. But most of all, you hate yourself, for feeling this hate at all. You hate yourself for hating glee club You hate yourself for hating the best thing that's ever happened to you.

**AN: Wow. This really didn't go the way I expected it to. It took a much darker turn than I originally planned. I kind of like this though, despite the hate it's dripping of. **

** However, I think a little explanation is warranted. I started writing this without a character in mind. And I still don't have one. But when I read over it again, I realized that there _is_ no specific character that this embodies, because it speaks for all of them in a way. I hope that makes sense to you guys. It makes sense it my head. **

** Anyway, please review and tell me what you thought!**


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